


stubborn (to a limit)

by justlikeswitchblades



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: KNBxNBA, M/M, Making Up, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 05:19:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18067337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: “Let’s try it again,”He had said, his voice straining, cracking into his phone’s speaker.“I’m almost convinced I should give up this time--but I want to try it again. I want us.”





	stubborn (to a limit)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stephanericher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/gifts).



> finally. happy belated to my girl <3

Kise’s shoes click against the gleaming white tiles of the bathroom floor. 

He looks in the mirror. 

His brows are filled in a light brown, a few shades darker than the golden bleach of his hair. His bangs swept back, faintly gleaming with matte mousse, forehead exposed and without blemish. There’s a touch of peach eyeshadow at the corner of each eye, neatly shaped by the small wings of his eyeliner. His highlight shines--though not too aggressively--on his cheekbones. 

_“Let’s try it again,”_ He had said, his voice straining, cracking into his phone’s speaker. _“I’m almost convinced I should give up this time--but I want to try it again. I want us.”_

He exhales and pushes up the sleeves of his coat with his wrists, scrubbing his hands with the foaming soap and icy water, waving them under the dryer and walking back into the restaurant. His eyes are drawn to Midorima in his turtleneck and velvet suit jacket, fringe brushing the tops of his Warby Parker frames, pale porcelain skin and cheekbones and pink lips, the spotlight above their table casting him in light and shadow. Kise walks over as Midorima inspects the menu, fingertips over the cuff of his sleeve. Midorima glances up at him.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

Midorima fights the compliment off with a glare, rolling his eyes before setting the menu down. If there’s a pink tinge to his cheeks, Kise can’t tell in this lighting--and if he could, there’s no saying it couldn’t be from the cup of sake Midorima’s been sipping at.

“Just thought you should know,” Kise fakes innocent, smiling, lifting his hands and backing off. “Did you want to order something else?”

Midorima’s frown dissipates into a more neutral expression. “No, I’m fine with we ordered.”

“You never had a huge appetite after games, did you?”

Midorima narrows his eyes. Kise has to bite back a smile.

“What?”

“For food,” Midorima states, his voice low. “Or anything else.”

“That’s what I said,” Kise grins, waving his hand. “Gosh, Midorimacchi, it’s like you’re implying something else--”

Midorima huffs, looking away--at least Kise can get him to act like he’s blushing.

“It’s okay,” Kise teases. “Just because we’re in a Japanese restaurant doesn’t mean everyone understands what we’re saying.”

Midorima glares. “You don’t know if that’s true.”

A server dressed in all black emerges from the kitchen, walking up to their table and placing a rectangular plate of nigiri between them. Kise thanks him and picks up his chopsticks.

“Ah, I’m rusty,” Kise laughs, transfering the slices of mackerel and hamachi to Midorima’s plate. “I barely use these at home anymore.” Midorima blinks hard and pulls back, looking a mix of disgusted and betrayed. Kise blinks back. 

“What?”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No?” Kise laughs, awkwardly this time. “You don’t think it’s easier to use a knife and fork, after living here for six, seven years now?”

“No!” Midorima fires back, incredulously. “Not when you’ve been using chopsticks for the nineteen years before that!” He sighs, placing his elbow on the table, his forehand leaning against the tips of his fingers. Kise smirks and rolls his eyes, fondly, jostling Midorima’s knee with his own under the table.

“And I’m supposed to be the dramatic one.”

“It’s justified when you deserve it.”

Kise scoffs at that, and now it’s Midorima’s turn to smile. He picks up the piece of nigiri, silvery fish and accompanying rice disappearing past his lips. He lifts his eyebrows.

“Oh, it’s good.”

Kise grins, popping a piece of eel into his mouth. “Best part of living on the coast.”

“Mm,” Midorima purses his lips just so, pensive; Kise’s eyes are drawn to his pout for a second. “Boston is similar, but...it’s not the same as back home.”

Kise smiles, resting his chin in his hand. “You still go back in the summers?”

“I have an apartment, in Tokyo--different from a few years ago,” He adds, guilt seeming to flash in his eyes from a moment. “It’s spacious. It’s in a quiet neighborhood.”

“Sounds like it suits you.”

Midorima places his hand on the table. Kise straightens up, placing his hand on top--Midorima smiles a touch. He doesn't pull away. Kise’s fingers loosely curl around his hand. 

“I think so.” Midorima turns his hand so it fits better with Kise’s fingers. “You seem pretty suited to California, no?”

“You think so?” Kise smooths his hair. “I’ve made some friends, and the weather’s nice most of the year...a good stroke of luck, I guess.”

Midorima fixes his lapel pin, a glimmering crocus - perhaps a version of today’s lucky item. “There’s nothing wrong with good luck.”

“Say,” Kise raises an eyebrow. “What was your ranking today?”

“Fifth.” Midorima raises an eyebrow back, taking a drink of water. “Which is. Passable.”

“Still in the first half. What was my ranking?”

“Gemini was…” Midorima’s brow furrows. He shifts in his seat and pulls his phone out of his pocket, his face illuminated as he pulls up the app. “Tenth place. Your lucky item was an opera ticket. Your color of the day was red.”

Kise rolls his eyes. “No wonder I lost earlier.”

“The day isn’t over yet.”

“You’re saying it’s going to get worse?”

“I’m saying,” Midorima tucks his phone away, meeting Kise’s gaze. “This evening is going better than I expected it to be.”

Kise blinks. “Oh.”

“Last time--” Midorima’s eyes drop, forehead wrinkling, upper lip lifting, almost like a snarl.. He inhales, sighs a breath out. “Last time, I wasn’t suited for a relationship. I didn’t think I would be satisfied with seeing my significant other once or twice a year, and I wasn’t. I didn’t know how to communicate with you over text, over the phone--it was even hard in person. I wasn’t happy, and after some point, I knew you knew, but I was too stubborn to change. Even though I was causing you pain.”

Kise sits back in his chair; he closes his mouth. He didn’t know what he expected from Midorima tonight, but he certainly wasn’t expecting this.

“Yeah.” He swallows. “I wasn’t perfect either, but--yeah. You did.”

“I didn’t think I would bother trying with a relationship after that. I certainly didn’t need one for myself--and I didn’t want to hurt anyone else. But after all a while--even though I didn’t think I felt this way before we got together--I started to feel lonely.

“I tried dating other people, after some time had passed,” Midorima continues. “Women, men. Most of them were nice; I went on more than one date with some of them. But even though I was content, it was hard to keep from comparing them to you. Some ways they were better, but even when they weren't, I kept going back to you.”

“Midorimacchi--Shintarou, I don't know what to say.” Kise pushes a hand through his hair. “I thought I would be fighting to get you to talk tonight--not fighting you to get a word in myself.”

“I agreed to meet, didn't I?’

“Well, yeah,” Kise shrugs. “But I’m the one who suggested we should meet in the first place. I’ve been thinking about you too, obviously,” He pouts. “It’s actually kind of frustrating that you’re so willing to speak.”

Midorima laughs. “It’s frustrating?”

Kise frowns--he realizes it’s silly, but it _is_ frustrating on some level.

“Yes,” Kise huffs. “Maybe this was a bad idea after all.”

“Ryouta.” Midorima locks eyes with Kise, weighing his words, judging the severity of his emotions. Kise cracks first, looking away and blushing at his own stubbornness, though his makeup hides it.

“If that’s the case,” Midorima spaces out his words, clueing Kise in that he’s humoring him. “We could talk about the game? It was something else watching you copy Collins’ ridiculous dunks.”

Kise grins, beaming under the rare flattery. “I even managed to pull off one of your threes.”

Midorima adjusts his glasses. “You pulled off _a_ three. I wouldn’t say it was one of mine.”

“Well,” Kise lifts his sake cup. “Here’s to having more time to teach me.”


End file.
